


An Eastern Perspective

by Billywick



Category: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 01:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Billywick/pseuds/Billywick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gilbert reflecting on his life, brother and situation. (warning: Italy-bashing, back away now if you're fond of the character)</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Eastern Perspective

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm bringing over all of my old Hetalia crap to ao3...This one was a drabble to break through writer's block...

There was something devious about Italy.

Okay, lots of people would call him crazy if he said this. But it was true. No one could be that dumb, that fucking clumsy and stupid and survive for this long.

How could two idiotic nations such as South and North Italy survive in war-torn Europe over centuries?

Everything about them screamed weak, defenseless, stupid.

So why where they still around?

How did it come to be that an amazing and strong country like himself, Prussia, had been dissolved and was long gone, but a pathetic patch of earth was still Italy?

Sure, Spain had looked out of for South Italy and it wasn't really Romano that Gilbert had a problem with.

He hated him. It was that simple. Prussia hated North Italy. The only reason he pretended to get along with the little shit was the express wish of his brother to not kill the little brunette nation.

A difficult wish if any. Everything about Italy grated on his nerves.

His voice. His relentless repetition of the word pasta. His intolerable way of referring to Ludwig as "Doitsu."

Fuck. He wanted to break the little bastard's neck.

God, world war II would have been such a piece of cake if it hadn't been for the irritating presence of Italy.

Not to mention he was fucking useless.

Now, Prussia would have had no problem kicking the little pest out of his house within, oh, two seconds? But the problem was that this wasn't his house. It was Ludwig's. His dear, overly patient brother.

Gilbert didn't know if it was guilt or some twisted affection, but even long after world war II, Ludwig let Feliciano come into their house on a daily basis.

At those times, Gilbert would simply leave the house, spend his time in the garage and refuse to let anyone in until Italy was gone.

Here was his little oasis. An Italian-free zone. No fucking pasta or gelato here. Gilbert worked on the restoration of his 1934 Mercedes. The car had been badly damaged, pretty much wrecked, but Ludwig had kept it safe from the allies, not wanting them to take one of the pieces that reminded him of his brother...

Although the tall blonde couldn't bear to look at it. He was still carrying the weight of guilt on his shoulders. He still flinched when someone called him a nazi.

Gilbert not so much. He was East Germany now, he supposedly carried half of the history. Hah. Half? He had been motherfucking Prussia. West had grown under his wing, had needed throughout both world wars.

Yes, they'd been separated. No, it hadn't been as awful as everyone made it out to be. Sure, the part of missing West had been heartbreakingly painful. He couldn't stand being away from his brother anymore. They'd done so much together, achieved so much...

But he, no matter how much he hated Russia, wouldn't have survived if they hadn't been separated. Had Germany remained one country...Well the east would never have defined itself the way it did. He would have disappeared into his brother.

And hell, the NVA uniform hadn't looked too bad on him either. Neither had spending time with Russia turned him into a paranoid little quivering pussy. He'd known Russia for a long, long time. Yeah, the 'man' wasn't quite stable. There was definitely an air of psychosis about Russia.

But the same could have been said about Prussia.

So, in a way, Gilbert had been grateful to his old enemy. For saving him. But he couldn't possibly endorse how the man had taken him away from his brother and had decided to make East Germany pay for the crimes against the soviet people during world war II.

Gilbert had taken it all and was still standing. He was tough to break and Russia certainly hadn't succeeded.

So after the separation from his dear little sweet West, Gil had been looking forward to coming to live with his little brother. Only to find the house infested with leeches. Or rather, Austria, Italy and Japan hanging around.

Austria had very swiftly been kicked out, Japan left quietly and without protest. But the dirtiest of stains, the most irritating of leeches, Italy, remained.

Ludwig hadn't the heart to somehow kick the simpering Italian out.

Gilbert knew he had turned somewhat bitter and cynical since becoming the east. He'd also taken a turn for the right-wing. This too depended on his people. Unemployment and right-wing extremism was blossoming in the heart of East Germany. Just because it wasn't officially the GDR anymore didn't mean that the attitude of its people had changed.

And Gilbert was the very personification of this part of Germany. So he too grew bitter, frustrated and more aggressive than before. Well. Before world war II. He'd been fairly aggressive in that too, to make it an understatement.

Proof of that was hanging in the dusty wardrobe up in the attic. Ludwig didn't know and would hopefully never find out that his brother had kept their nazi uniforms. The things were too important to him to throw away.

Alongside his library of diaries, the east of Germany preferred to keep something to remind him of his long life. Make memories, Japan had called it once.

So he had kept the uniforms, he'd kept their medals, he'd kept the Mercedes. Well, West had kept it for him.

So now he was once again laying beneath the old car, removing another extremely rusty piece of metal. He'd even demanded a welding torch in the garage. It had taken five solid days of whining and guilt-tripping his brother to get them. But anything for his old gal.

"Veeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee~"

Fuck, the little brat had already arrived. Gilbert slid out from underneath his car, wiping his hands as he threw the rusted metal on a heap of similarly wasted material. He'd need some damn loud music to drown out that pitch of annoying. The stereo had been a Christmas present from America, who seemed to think Gilbert was still behind the wall and jumping with joy over mass-produced, capitalist products.

The only thing it was good for was drowning out the fucking shrieking Italian in the garden. He wondered briefly what he was doing there. Had a piece of pasta fallen in there? Or was another cat just strolling by?

Feliciano had to be mentally ill somehow. Maybe ADD or something.

When had he become so bitter, he wondered. What a stupid question. Behind the iron curtain of course. Some might say Gilbert had become somewhat insane...A regular nutcase with no real country to speak of.

Well maybe that was a little true. But not entirely. He was Germany too, wasn't he?

Its not like his entire nation consisted of standup do-gooders and law-abiding righteous people like Ludwig. There was a gritty, dirty, criminal side to Germany too. There was a lazy, foul-mouthed, narrow-minded community just like in many other countries.

And still, Gilbert was more than a few bad eggs. He was the dissatisfied, under-employed half of Germany that everyone seems to believe to have disappeared in 1989.

Was it really a surprise that he was bitter? No.

Was it a surprise that he didn't just give up on life after the reunion? Yes.

Because even though Prussia had vanished from Europe's maps and was only found in history books, there was still someone left in the world who needed him, Gilbert. And that someone was Ludwig. He'd never been without Gilbert, as long as he remembered. The albino had been his brother, his mentor and his best friend.

Not in the sense that Italy was his friend. Italy was weak, cowardly, he needed protection that Germany felt obliged to give.

No, Prussia was a friend Germany could depend on. To always be there. That's why the wall had been so very hard for Ludwig. Gilbert remembered a time without Ludwig. But not the other way around.

Ludwig still needed him as much as he did on day one, though you'd be hard-pressed to find any obvious signs between the two brothers for this.

"Italy! What are you doing with the water-hose?"

Ludwig's deep voice was faintly audible through the heavy drumbeats and base of Prussia's preferred music. It made him smile, to think of his West.

Because when Italy was gone, he'd have him all to himself again. He'd show him once more how bitter his east was and how responsible little brothers should always cheer their elders up. He'd remind him of their reunification. Their wedding in 1933. Their unity in 1871...

History had brought them closer than anyone else could ever understand. Over due time, their relationship had grown beyond platonic through mutual attraction. Okay, and perhaps a few hasty actions from Gilbert's side.

Then again, little Ludwig could be a real damn slut if he wanted to.

Through his musings, Gilbert heard the front-door slam and Romano's angry babblings mostly insulting Ludwig in Italian.

Knowing he wouldn't get much more work done now, Gilbert grabbed a cloth to wipe the sweat off of his face and neck.

A second slam announced the Italian brothers leaving. And then the sound Gilbert had been waiting for. The door to the garage opening.

"Na, ha'm se sich endlich wieder verpisst?"

"Bruder...Du solltest nicht immer so schlecht über sie reden..."

Well-built arms slung themselves around Gilbert's slim waist, drawing a smirk from East Germany's face.

Ludwig looked relieved to be alone with his brother again. So much so, he didn't even care he was getting grease and oil on his clothes.

"Das macht dich doch an."

"Halt die Fresse."

The wry grin on Gilbert's lips was soon wiped away as Ludwig had decided to finally shut up that fine mouth of his brother's, sick of the endless retorts. Well, not really sick of them. But sometimes he just needed a silent Gilbert more than a smartass Gilbert.

Yes, Ludwig needed his brother. Because no matter how much of a friend Italy might be, or how much the other nations tried to get close to him, they could never replace Gilbert. His brother, his friend, his mentor, his lover, his other half. His east.


End file.
